Vote Brujah
by jarec
Summary: In an attempt to preserve the Masquerade, a neonate makes a very unusual proposal
1. Chapter 1

Authors note : Takes place AFTER "Rages with Wolves" which is now on hold.

I own White Wolf, Vampire, and the World Of Darkness. I am a rich monarch, ruling over the planet Xygon and living in a cave on Mars (tax thing). If you believe this, you are clearly Malkavian.

VOTE BRUJAH!

Thomas Goodkinde had, in the course of his long political career, attended many high-level meetings. He had been a Governor in what he now thought of as his 'old life'. He had met with Senators, corporate tycoons, religious leaders, presidents and once with a king. HE had attended these meetings, even led some of them, without ever losing his cool. He had been, in the words of one Congressman, "a true leader, a credit to the GOP, and a man with a bright future ahead of him". All this was still true, yet the prospect of the coming meeting chilled him to the bone. After all how often did one get to meet the secret rulers of the United States?

Thomas was a Neonate of clan Brujah. That is to say, he was a newly Embraced member of the most fractious, most passionate, the most political and the most numerous of all the vampire clans. He had been the well-respected governor of a populous state, known for his Classical Liberalist ideologies and his personal charisma. Then an apparently young woman had seduced him, then Embraced him. She had wanted him to see what she called the 'real world'. She had then abandoned him to what some called the World of Darkness. Now -five years later, he was going to turn that setback into a huge triumph. With the help of his guests, of course.

He had spent a long time getting the boardroom just right. A large, round table was set up, courtesy of the decorator. He had specified a round table for the same reason King Arthur is said to have done; to avoid turning seating arrangements into a matter of status. The meeting would be tense enough, and the guests soon arriving to his mansion were dangerous enough. No need to give them any reason to cause problems.

The first of his guests to arrive was a young looking woman, with pale skin and dirty brown hair. She wore white robes, and her eyes flashed with the light of a true zealot. This was Carmen, the Malkavian Prince of Reno Nevada. She had clawed her way to the top in a bitter struggle against the Followers of Set, guided by what she believed to be the voice of Caine. Since 'Caine' had brought her to power, few were prepared to argue the point. Behind her were two other Malks, part of Carmen's retinue. Both were extremely muscular and carried belt-fed 'Rolling Thunder' combat shotguns. Also accompanying her was a small, waif-like woman with a third eye. She carried no weapons, and exuded an aura of peace and tranquility.

_A SALUBRI!_ Thomas was amazed, yet restrained himself from asking about it just yet. Best to deal with the business at hand first. Instead he simply welcomed them briefly and bade them sit.

Following at a leisurely pace was Gretchen Dartmor, Toreador Prince of Atlanta. She was among the most gorgeous women Thomas had ever seen, with pale skin (natural enough for a vampire), black hair, and a figure that put most actresses to shame. Thomas suspected her intelligence and ruthlessness. had surprised her sire, as he (or she) had Embraced her purely for her looks. Though the leader of one of the wealthiest cities in the world, and the ACTUAL head of the largest corporations in the world (Coca-Cola and AOL-Time Warner) Gretchen was locked in a struggle with the Sabbat Cardinal Zumarraga, and had been for a decade. Although Carmen had recently joined forces with her, the balance between Camarilla and Sabbat was precarious. Consequently her retinue was large, composed of four ghouls armed with submachine guns, two Cainites (one Gangrel and one Toreador), and her advisor Kai Li, of the Kuei-Jin.

Following her was the Prince of Louisiana (the only Prince to rule over more than just a city) and head of the North American Tremere, Arthur Rennick. A small man, apparently in his sixties, Rennick was a master Thaumaturgist, and commanded the loyalties of almost every Tremere on the continent. Two Tremere, one armed with a large staff (presumably magical) and the other with a far-less exotic AK-47 guarded him. Rennick had few enemies, and was reputed to be among the most powerful warlocks in his clan. Consequently, he needed little in the way of protection. Oddly, he seemed to be unsurprised by the Salubris presence, and though he was far from happy to see her, he did not create any problems.

Next to arrive was Carlos Santaga (pronounced San-TAY- GAH), the Nosferatu Prince of Washington DC. Since the capital was a city that ran on secrets and hidden agendas, the Nosferatu had haitually ruled there. With their talent for information gathering and secrecy, the Sewer Rats were able to keep all Kindred fairly well-appraised of the governments intentions. Carlos himself was a hideous thing, a Hispanic man with an apelike body covered in boils and running sores. He was flanked by no fewer than four Nosferatu, all carrying tommyguns. Antique, but deadly, they could blanket the room in lead in a matter of seconds. The odd thing was, all five Nosferatu were wearing old-style pinstripe suits, as were worn by the Mafia enforcers of the nineteen thirties. They even wore fedoras, cocked at the exact same angle.

The fifth guest was arguably the most important. Jerome Vanderbolt was the Ventrue ruler of New York City. He was a very powerful Cainite, and a proven strategist, having seized control of the city from the Sabbat during the start of the Giuliani years. A single Cainite, a swarthy man of middle-eastern descent, accompanied him. But then Vanderbolt needed no bodyguards, here. The Camarilla had officially made him untouchable as a reward for the retaking of New York. No Cainite could lift a hand against him, nor remove him from power, without damn good cause. Moreover, Vanderbolt was a former Archon, and a powerful warrior in his own right. The stereotypical Northern European, Vanderbolt was tall and blonde, with a lean frame that was perfectly accented by his expensive clothes. Despite this privileged appearance, Vanderbolt an aura of power that had little to do with his known control of the New York mobs.

The last guest was the newest Prince in North America, the Gangrel leader of Chicago Kurt Masters. He was rugged looking, with dark hair and a five o' clock shadow. His bodyguards were Lupines, two in human form carrying Uzis, the third in Crinos. How this alliance had come to be no one outside Chicago knew.

Masters was known for his environmental and corporate crusades. The environmental one was fairly straightforward. Using his control of the city, Masters had instituted a series of nearly draconian anti-pollution laws. Moreover, the city's Anarchs, who acted as the Princes private army, again something no one outside the insular city truly understood, targeted persistent offenders.

His corporate crusade was more overt. Through unknown means, Masters had convinced every Kindred in the city to target a corporation called Pentex. Brujah, Malkavians, Tremere and Gangrel launched covert assaults on Pentex facilities. Ventrue used their money and corporations against it, while Toreadors used the media to blacken Pentex's image, using information from the Nosferatu. Masters had hinted that, if things went well in Chicago, he would tell the other Kindred what was going on. However, because of Goodkinde's sterling environmental record while governor of Ohio, he had been allowed to learn the truth. He'd found it...disturbing.

His guests took their time getting settled. Each prince was theoretically supreme is his or her territory, and so each had problems and experiences that could only be properly understood by another Prince. Moreover, this was a rare situation for the Princes. For once, they were in the presence of Kindred who had no agenda involving them or their city. They were outside the complex web of Camarilla politics and plotting, and intended to take advantage of it to let their guards down, slightly. The talk became boisterous, filled with laughter and commiseration.

Vanderbolt, Carmen and Dartmor were engaged in discussion about the best ways to combat the Sabbat. Santaga and Masters were talking about the new Environmental bill being discussed by Congress. Rennick and his retinue were listening.

Thomas let it go on for a while. He wanted his guests to be in as agreeable a mood as possible for his announcement. Things had to be just right or it would never work as he wanted. The very fact that he had called this meeting was more or less unheard of. No neonate could simply request an audience with the Prince of his own city, much less the most powerful Princes in North America. But then, Thomas Goodkinde was not an ordinary neonate.

Due to his grounding in politics before the Embrace, Thomas acted as the Camarillas advisor on American law and politics. He told Princes how best to influence elections to ensure that their candidates remained in power, legally. He was the one who had gone to Europe to brief the ancient lords of the Camarilla who held power there on the realities of what they still referred to as 'the colonies'. It was he who had sparked the massive crackdown on tax evasion and fraud as a threat to the Masquerade. Thus, if he asked the Princes to come, it was a fair bet they would come and listen attentively. Whether they would agree was another matter.

After twenty minutes, he spoke. He had long ago learned to combine Presence with his own natural speaking ability. "My lords please. I appreciate your desire to talk amongst yourselves, but I called you here for a purpose". Gradually, the room quieted. All the Princes were curious what Goodkinde had to say that was so important.

"My lords, the Camarilla has held firm control of the vampire world since its inception so many centuries ago. However, in recent nights that control has slipped dramatically. Anarchs and Sabbat outnumber Camarilla in many cities. We have lost most of the West Coast, and our hold on the East is shaky. Everything south of the Mexican border and north of Vermont is Sabbat. Our enemies have changed their methods to suit the modern world. Anarchs have adopted the image of the lone, angst-ridden rebel, making them popular among the newly Embraced. The Sabbat have begun to act in more subtle ways, infiltrating where once they simply invaded. The results of these changes have hurt us badly. Newly embraced childer see the Anarchs as 'cool', while stealthy Sabbat agents erode our power.

New supernaturals threaten us as well. We have always faced the Wraiths, the Mages and the Lupines, but now new factions are entering the picture. The Kine rise against us, calling themselves Hunters, and fight us. Many of us have fallen to beings we previously regarded as cattle. The Fae have inexplicably returned, and cause chaos wherever they go, albeit mainly by accident.

All along, we have remained static. Our procedures for countering these threats have not changed in centuries. Anarchs are ignored or exterminated, even though both adds to their appeal among the young. The Sabbat is only fought when it OPENLY challenges us, and is officially not recognized as different from the Anarchs. We do not even ATTEMPT to create a policy to deal with the newcomers. This cannot continue.

To maintain the Masquerade, and thereby ensure our survival, the Camarilla must adapt. We can best combat our foes by enlisting mortal aid. Simply pulling strings behind the scenes is no longer enough, we must begin to act directly." Thomas raised his hands gesturing to the assembled rulers to hold their objections "I do not mean we must break the masquerade. You see, a young vampire can reenter society , and with the right credentials, knowledge and backing, can assume power easily. "

Thomas now dropped the formal speech, adopting instead the 'human touch' he'd used to succeed in mortal politics. Suddenly, he spoke to the assembled Princes as though he was each ones closest friend, with a warm yet conspiratorial smile. "All of which is a long-winded way of getting to my proposal. You see, my

lords, I intend to run for President."

Uproar, every Prince trying to speak at once.

"One at a time, my lords! I may be faster than before, since my Embrace, but I'm still only one man!" Thomas shouted, laughing to show he was joking. A little jest in times of stress made the audience more receptive to your plans, as he'd learned many years before. Now that his formal speech was done with, Goodkinde reverted to his normal way of speaking, a relaxed tone with a slight southern twang.

Vanderbolt, by unspoken agreement, began "Kindred have tried to rule the mortals openly before, and the result was the Inquisition and the Anarch Revolt. Our species barely survived, and the Camarilla was founded on the idea that we could not do such things again, that we must hold power in secret if at all"

"Absolutely right my lord. But I don't intend to rule openly as a vampire. I was never actually declared dead, I merely resigned for 'reasons of ill health'. So I can be elected to the post of President with no more trouble than any one else"

The Ventrue seemed unimpressed "Then how, pray tell, do you intend to explain the fact that you cannot go outside in the daytime? Or that you never eat or drink? I imagine such odd behavior by the President will not go unnoticed, especially since you were known for your robust health before your disappearance in the middle of a reelection campaign."

" Ahh, but in a few months it will be revealed that I didn't just disappear. Instead, I was diagnosed with a rare skin condition, which makes my skin dangerously sensitive to sunlight. It's rare, but just plausible enough to work especially with your help. As for food and drink, well, we CAN swallow food, we just don't get anything out of it. Blood can be taken from a few well placed blood dolls, eliminating THAT problem."

"That seems to deal with your issues" Rennick said, his voice as dry as a desert "but not ours. Why should we help you?"

"As president, I can crack down on violent criminal gangs. Since that's all the mortals reckon Anarchs are, that'll help put them under control. This will also help against the We all know that the NSC and the FBI are starting to cause troubles, and they can only be dealt with by someone high up in government. I can move government funding away from anything that might lead them to us."

The Princes nodded at this. The IRS was beginning to get suspicious about the numbers of people who, despite not paying taxes and having no official records, nevertheless lived like royalty. They suspected a vast money-laundering operation, but their investigation could easily threaten the Masquerade. They might, for instance, wonder why some of their suspects never seemed to die.

Meanwhile the FBI was compiling a database of all the victims of 'mysterious and spontaneous exsanguination', in other words vampirism. They, too, favored a rational explanation; namely some sort of nation-wide vampire-cult. Such things had occurred before on a local scale, when teenaged Goths decided to go the next step, to the endless amusement of local Kindred. They viewed them same way a wolf might view a sheep trying to hunt. Surreal and sort of funny. However, all it would take is one lucky break in an Anarch or Sabbat city for the Federal Bureau of Investigation to start a massive vampire hunt.

Now Gretchen Dartmor spoke "All right, Mr. Goodkinde. You have convinced us that a Kindred in the White House would be to our advantage. Well done. Now, why should we entrust this enterprise to you? I mean you ARE only a neonate. More you are Brujah and so inherently lacking in control."

Goodkinde kept smiling, but inside he made a note of Dartmor's slights. _Someday, woman, someday…_

"Well, as to my being a neonate, that will help me retake my place in society. As for being Brujah…well… I'm sorry to say you are wrong about my clan, ma'am. We are NOT all rebels and punks.

While its true we ARE all driven by a cause, its not always anarchy or communism. Take me for example. I believe that society would run much better if the government kept to its own business. Enforcing the law, defending the borders, protecting the environment, and helping the very poor. Things like corporate dealings, civil law, drugs, marriage, morals and the like should be left to the individual. People, in short, should be allowed to do whatever they want so long as it doesn't bother anyone else.

As for our tendency to Frenzy, well that's nothing a bit of self-discipline won't cure. In fact the passion of my clan might even be an asset, helping me appear more human, since most Kindred seem somewhat cold by mortal standards."

Finally Carmen spoke "All very good points. Plus, as you can help other Kindred attain similar positions later. Appoint judges and such. But, now Caine wishes to ask a question. Why us? Why don't you talk to the European leaders of the Camarilla, the Inner Circle? They actually lead the sect, so should they not be the first to be consulted?"

Goodkinde had an answer ready for that too. He shook his head sadly. "The trouble with that idea is that the Camarilla in Europe doesn't really understand the situation here in North America. Their situation is so different from our own that they CAN'T understand us. For example, in Europe most Kindred never involve themselves in violence. This is because the Sabbat is virtually nonexistent in Europe and Anarchs are put down harshly. As a result , even the most sophisticated of us is viewed as a thug or rowdy kid, and the 'proper place' for a Neonates studies should be culture, finance and so forth.

This leads us to another example of European difference: The Sabbat. Officially, the Camarilla acknowledges no other sect. This is because the leaders of Europe do not truly understand the modern Sabbat. They know only the wild, disorganized rabble that existed in the Middle Ages. They know nothing of how dangerous Sabbat packs are in battle, or how the Sabbat can hide itself at need. So, when we talk of the need to change, they just think we're radicals or rebels.

One final point, my lords. Few North American Kindred are less than Seventh Generation. That means our leaders are relatively modern beings, and young enough to adapt to changing times. The European leaders are ALL Elders. The average Generation for Princes is 5th, and they are STUBBORN old… Cainites."

Santaga and Vanderbolt both nodded at this. They had been to the Old World and knew how ignorant, arrogant and stubborn the Camarilla there was. Worse, many of the leaders were incompetents, who would

Barely survive as Neonates in America. They rose because there was nowhere near as much competition in Europe; the Camarilla ruled the cities and always had. Thus, promotions were usually based on seniority. Because of their relative youth, Santaga and Vanderbolt had both been treated casually, and largely ignored.

"But" Goodkinde continued, getting to the main point of this little gathering "perhaps, Prince Carmen was asking why I'm talking to YOU, rather than other Princes. The truth is, each of you has something I need to succeed in this. Prince Carmen, you have excellent relations with the independent clans; the Giovanni, the Ravnos and the Assamites. Since we can be sure the Sabbat will be against me, I'll need their help. Since these clans can go just about anywhere, they can provide intelligence on Sabbat cities."

"I knew you would" Carmen said with a strange smugness 'Caine told me days ago. I have a meeting with Angela Giovanni, the Giovanni leader of North America in a few days. After that, I meet with James Urin of the Assamites, then with Gregor the Ravnos elder. Then, in two weeks I meet with a representative of the Setites. You'll need them to, though I hate doing it."

Goodkinde was pleasantly surprised. He had not counted on the Malkavians insanity working in his favor.

"Prince Masters, you have a better relationship with the Lupines than any other Kindred in recorded history, and they might listen to you. I need them to come over to my side, or at least stay neutral. Of all the other supernaturals in the country, they're the only other group who take an active role in human affairs, and if they decide to move against me it could seriously cut my chances, to say nothing of my lifespan.

The Gangrel interrupted "You realize, of course, that all I can hope to do is set up meetings? Once you start talking it'll be up to you to convince them."

"Believe me, I think I can. What you're doing in Chicago, environmentally, is good. I want to take that national."

Masters eyes looked about ready to burst out of his sockets. Though the city Garou had long tried to fight Pentex through the law, they had had little success. For one thing, Garou were very bad in court. The stress, the opposition's taunting and the pressure were essentially a recipe for a Frenzy, and even if that was avoided, they couldn't remain calm in the witness box. More than that, though, the Wyrm had agents in very high places. Judges, CEOs, generals, and many others bowed to the Worm, and would protect Pentex with all they had. But, if the PRESIDENT was on their side… suddenly the War For Gaia might get a lot more positive. The Gangrel and his retinue were stunned beyond words, and merely nodded.

"Lord Santaga, I don't think we need to go into why help from the Prince of Washington DC would be an asset, do we? Nor the leader of the North American Tremere, Prince Rennick?"

Both Kindred nodded, though Rennick said that he would need approval from the clan Elders.

"Prince Vanderbolt, you I need most of all. First, you rule one of the largest, wealthiest and most influential cities in the Western world. Second, your reputation could swing this for me. If you come in on my side, other Princes could decide to follow your example. Third, you are the most respected general the Camarilla has in the New World. Finally, you have the respect of the Inner Circle, and can help me face any problems they might cause, directly or indirectly."

Vanderbolt nodded impatiently "Your point has been made, Goodkinde. I agree your idea would be good for our sect. No need to kiss my ass; I support you."

Goodkinde had expected Vanderbolts support; if he saw something as good for the Camarilla and not too dangerous for him, he would support it. Which was as close to altruism as most Kindred ever got.

Finally, he turned to Gretchen Dartmor. "Prince Dartmor, you control almost as much money as Prince Vanderbolt, and so in part I guess you know why I need your support. Any campaign needs a well-funded war chest. But more than that, I need you to help with the media."

Dartmor feigned ignorance, badly. "Why, what ever do you mean, Thomas?"

"Let's not kid around, ok?" Goodkinde hated the way she tried to establish herself on as his superior by condescending use of his first name. He felt the Beast rise, and fought it with every ounce of his will. This was NOT the time to prove he was Brujah. "You control the largest media corporation in the world. You can use it to do damage control, and to smear my opponents. But most of all, I need you to hit preemptively. It seems pretty obvious that some Hunter, Inquisitor, or Mage will catch on to what I am and try to use it to destroy the Masquerade and expose us all. I need you to create an all-out media blitz, subtly turning the vampire from a figure of menace to one of hilarity. I want people to think of vampires as jokes, so if someone DOES come forward, the idea will be laughed at regardless of the evidence. "

Despite his argument, Dartmor looked like she was going to balk. Then Vanderbolt spoke up "Do it Gretchen. That's an order"

Dartmor spun and glared at the New York Ventrue "You forget yourself, Jerome. Despite your hype, I am Prince in Atlanta, not you. Within her domain a Prince is supreme, and cannot be commanded by any. Or have you forgotten the Traditions, ARCHON?" The last word was laced with so much inexplicable contempt that the assembled Kindred prepared themselves for Vanderbolt to tear Dartmor's head off. Her retinue primed their weapons, knowing it was probably futile. According to rumor, Vanderbolt really was that good.

Everyone was surprised, therefore, when Vanderbolt remained totally calm. "Yes, Gretchen, I was an Archon. And I still have the Justicar's ear. We have here a chance to guarantee the Masquerade. Your interference COULD be interpreted as a violation of the Fifth and most vital Tradition. Were I to mention this to the Justicar, you would soon be quite dead. Again. "

Dartmor paled. The one Kindred who could ignore the complex rules of Status and bring Princes to task was a Justicar. Vanderbolt's threat was entirely plausible. She nodded and, in a voice little louder than a whisper said "fine. I will help. This time"

Goodkinde smiled. The meeting had gone flawlessly. He stood up "Thank you very much my lords I promise you will not regret it."

Rennick smiled coldly and said simply "We had better not" and the meeting broke up.

End of Chapter one.

NEXT: Private Plans


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Private Conversations- Detroit

CHICAGO

Thomas Goodkinde exited his plane and took a deep breath of Chicago's air. Although mortals might not know it yet, the air in the city was markedly cleaner than in other urban centers. Prince Master's ecological revolution (it really was to grand to cal it a reform) was starting to have its effect.

This would be the first of four private meetings he would have before going to Europe to get the blesing of the Inner Circle. He needed Masters infuence over the Lupines, so here he was. Next he would see Vanderbolt in New York, Prince Carmen in Reno, and Prince Santaga in D.C. It would be a very busy few weeks.

Entering the terminal he reflected on the fact that no language contains the simile 'pretty as an airport'. The place was typically ugly; spartan, grey and impersonal. He noticed that at the gate stood a very pretty young woman carrying a sign with the name 'Gudkynd' on it. HE stood for a moment, unsure what to do. Finally he walked up to her and said in a loud voice:

" I am Thomas Goodkinde. Let's go.". Since no mr. Gudkynd stepped forward to complain about his ride being taken, Goodkinde assumed he was whom she was waiting for.

This was confirmed when she smiled and said "Good. I wased ascared 'cause I wasn't sure I gotted it right. Human talk is hard enough, but human markings! C'mon Jagged Jimmy's waiting with the cartomobile."

Goodkinde was not entirely certain what to make of the young redhead in tight clothes and purple eyeliner. He noted that none of her clothes seemed to match. Bright green shirt, yellow baseball cap, hot pink mini-skirt. From her odd behavior he thought she might be retarded, but her movements and non-social behavior were perfectly normal. He noticed, for instance, that she had no trouble navigating the maze-like airport. Puzzled, he followed her outside into the night.

She led him to a white luxury sedan, in which a scrawny young black man waited. The man, presumably Jagged Jimmy, was reading a magazine and smoking a joint. He was well dressed, yet unkempt, as though he was unused to fine clothes. His hair was long and dirty, and if he'd had a shower in the last two days Goodkinde would get his nose examined. Loud music, Hendrix he thought, was blaring from the car's powerful sound system. _Well, at least he has good taste in music._

The redhead knocked loudly on the window and yelled "Jimmy! I's got that goddammed filthy unrepentant bloodsucker!"

Jagged Jimmy turned down the music, an embarrassed look on his face. "Dammit Code-Mistress, his name is Goodkinde! Ain't I told you often enough!"

A puzzled and slightly hurt look came over the girls face "But Jimmy, that's what you called him while we comed here. Is it not right?"

Goodkinde was angry, but not very. He was much ,much too amused by 'Jagged Jimmy' 's reaction to 'code-mistress''s comment. He suddenly began to sweat and his eyes darted around nervously. "Uh…well.. uh… yeah, but…uhm…it's not right to say things like that to his face"

"Why? Why is it better to do it when he's not here?" the redhead asked, in a curious tone.

Goodkinde couldn't help himself. He interjected "Yes, Jimmy, tell us why?"

The young werewolf looked as though he wanted to crawl into a hole and die. His suffering was alleviated when the cellphone rang. "Yeah Kurt? Yeah I got 'im. What? The fuck should I know? Awright gimme a second…" Turning to Goodkinde, he asked "Uhm..are you ready to meet the, uh, Prince?" Goodkinde nodded "Yeah he's ready. Okay see ya soon man". He opened the drivers side door and Code-Mistress hopped in. At first she squatted on the seat, then, with an air of embarrassment, extended her legs to the floor.

Goodkinde slipped in the back, idly wondering what was going on.

The ride was mostly silent, until 'Jagged Jimmy's cell phone went off, a strange, high-pitched sound. It only rang once, but it seemed to be enough to convey some sort of message to the pair.

"Damn. We've been spotted. Nosferatu say there's a full pack of Black Spirals on our tails"

"Call for help" Code Mistress said "There should be plentys of it. All the vamps, mageses, and others are with us, right?"

"Would do normally, but my phones dead. Wyrm magic for damn sure. And.. oh shit, there's more of 'em blocking the damn road. We're done, babe."

The car stopped, less because they wanted it to than because their enemies did. The Black Spiral Dancer Theurge, Verminhyde, was indeed talented with machine banes.

Goodkinde, had gathered that they were in some sort of trouble, and that there probably wasn't time to ask what. So he did what any member of his Clan would have done in the situation. He stuck his head out the window and started yelling. "Brujah! Brujah! Brujah! BRUJAH!"

Both the werewolves started in their seats. "What the HELL are you doin'?" Jimmy yelled "You trying to attract more attention?"

"Actually" Goodkinde responded, his voice calm "I am. And… ah, here they are"

Shadowy figures, dozens of them, emerged from the darkness, surrounding the Wyrm-spawn. Goodkinde had made the Call, and all the Brujah in the city had come as fast as they could. Considering that he had sent word a head of his coming, and told them to be ready, that was pretty fast.

They carried a motley variety of weapons, ranging from lead pipes and silver knives to Uzi's and broadswords. The Black Spiral Dancers seemed less confident, suddenly. One to one, a Lupine was more than a match for a vampire. The odds here however favored the sons (and daughters) of Caine by about 3:1.

A young, black skinned Brujah licked her lips and said "Ok Fleabags, let's dance".

In the ensuing mayhem, seven Brujah met their Final Deaths, while ALL the Black Spirals were wiped out.

Neither Jimmy nor Code Mistress spoke a word.

A few minutes later, the dust cleared, and the surviving vampires began to disperse. Soon only one remained, one who Goodkinde recognized as the Brujah Primogen of Detroit, Peter Calahan. A tall man with bright red hair and skin pale even by Kindred standards, Calahan walked calmly to the car. Nodding to the two shell-shocked Lupines, Calahan gestured for Goodkinde to step outside.

"Well, Mr. Goodkinde, how are you? None the worse for your experiences, I trust?" Calahan was originally European, Embraced during the conquest of Ireland by the English almost a thousand years ago. As such, he retained a certain Old World sense of values. While this made him charming company, it also resulted in a certain maddening reluctance to cut to a point"

Fortunately, Goodkinde was enough a childe of the New World to compensate, politely. "No, thank you. Its good to know that even in so unique a city as this one, Brujah still answer The Call. But, may I ask, why did you come yourself? Surely a Primogen has more important things to do?"

"Ahh, yes. Well I DID want to talk to you about some of your positions regarding Northern Ireland…"

_Oh boy. My luck to Call the most militant Irish Nationalist to ever be Embraced_

"Of course. But right now the Prince is awaiting me" an idea came to him, a good way to get moving without offending such a high-status Cainite "Why not come along? No disrespect to my companions, but I would feel more comfortable with a bit of extra protection. We can talk on the way"

"A fine idea. Now, I would like to know your opinion of the Good Friday Accords…"

After that they made swift progress. Goodkinde guessed that Calahan had some of his enforcers running ahead to make sure things were safe. However it happened, they reached Kurt Masters home within an hour.

It wasn't the palatial estate that most Princes insisted on. It was, instead a fairly large house in one of the upper-middle class districts. Not fancy, but probably as close to it as a Gangrel was ever going to tolerate. The Outlanders preferred to keep their lairs small and spartan so they could abandon them at any time

The interior was a strange mix of luxury and simplicity, which had become fashionable recently. The object seemed to be to have the very bare minimum in terms of furniture, but for each piece to be as luxurious as possible. 'Spartan Riche' they called it. Goodkinde didn't much care for it; it seemed like a way of pretending to be something you weren't (i.e decadent or practical, depending on who you really were). Still, it seemed to fit a Gangrel Prince perfectly.

Masters was waiting for them, seated behind a large mahogany desk. Goodkinde was reminded of the first time he had met the Prince of Detroit. And reflected on how much had hanged since that night…

Shortly after his Embrace, when he was beginning to establish himself as a major expert in politics (Kindred AND Kine), he had been sent to Detroit by the Prince of Denver to see "what that Gangrel tree-hugger is DOING over there". After a month of spreading rumors, investigating, and pulling a LOT of strings, he had been granted an audience with the Prince. Masters, aware of Goodkinde's skills now, had told the Neonate that he would only divulge the truth if Goodkinde swore to keep it a secret.

When Masters had told him that Pentex was a front for an evil, demented quasi-god bent on destroying the world, Goodkinde had assumed the Gangrel was mad. Until he had seen the evidence.

Photographs of Pentex Labs where Kindred and Lupines were experimented on. Records that revealed whole sub-companies devoted to nothing but producing and dumping toxic waste. A vast research department, with information on the world's supernatural population. Deals made with Baali, the demon-worshipping vampires hated by every clan and sect. Links to numerous dictators and warlords. "Legitimate" drug firms turning out designer narcotics at a rate that would make the Setites green with envy. The Kennedy Assasination. The disappearance of Jimmy Hoffa. Secret documents revealing a massive hunt for the Antediluvians. McDonald's Secret Sauce (Goodkinde still felt queasy thinking about THAT information). And much much more.

Goodkinde had been horrified. Neither the Camarilla nor the Sabbat wanted to see the world destroyed, and neither did he. Masters told him that his reaction had been fairly typical, and that shortly after his Coronation, Masters had revealed this to the city's Primogen Council, the Anarch 'leaders' and even to the local Sabbat. All had agreed that Pentex had to fall, but that more time was needed before a global campaign could be launched. More intelligence had to be gathered, plans had to be made. Meanwhile, they would fight here in Detroit, to get a measure of the 'Wyrm''s strength.

The local Lupines were ecstatic. After millennia of fighting the powers of evil alone, they finally had potent allies. More, the Kindred could target Pentex in ways the Lupines never thought of. The Lupines, aided now by Camarilla Battle Coteries and Sabbat War Parties, had stepped up the assault upon Pentex, but the Ventrue, Toreador, Tremere, and Tzimisce had all favored subtler approaches.

Lawsuits, media attacks, bank runs, and more all suddenly plagued Pentex and its subsidiaries. Goodkinde thought the class action suit against Black Dog Games (a role-playing game company owned by Pentex) for 'corrupting the young' was an especially nice touch. The suit was lost, but the PR damage had been terrible. All the while Tremere magic ensured that the supernatural side of the Wyrm's agency faltered.

The Sabbat took part in overt attacks (naturally more successful than those of the Camarilla), but also ran its own hidden war. Lasombra used their influence over the Church to press hard against Pentex' genetic research divisions, and influenced corporations to refuse deals with the mega-corporation. Church organizations petitioned against Pentex and turned its image from 'family friendly' to 'abomination in the eyes of the Lord'.

The Tzimisce assault was more horrific. The Fiends cooperated with the Nosferatu to gather information, but lacking the Nosferatu talent for sneaking had resorted to other methods. Pentex operatives, Black Spiral Dancers, and ordinary executives were captured by Tzimisce, ad interrogated. As one Bishop Ludmilla had put it "viscitude is a wonderful way to get people to open up to you, in every sense of the phrase". As a result, the warriors of Gaia (and their undead allies) could hurt the Wyrm much better, knowing where and when things were happening.

Now Goodkinde wanted Masters help to reach the White House. All he had to do was show how he could use his new position to convince more Princes to help in the fight. Hell, if just Vanderbolt and Dartmor (rulers of New York and Atlanta, respectively) could be turned, then in a few months Pentex would be on the ropes! Throw the ever-vicious fanatics of the Sabbat into the picture… it'd all be settled in a year. The "War for Gaia" finished at last.

Goodkinde made the necessary obeisances to the supreme ruler of Detroit, and then sat down. The truth was he was not here to confer with Masters, and both men knew it. Goodkinde was here to meet with the leaders of North Americas Lupines; the so-called 'Garou Nation'.

For a time all was quiet within the chamber. Goodkinde was impatient to get going but knew better than to hurry a Prince. _After all, that's what holding Praxis means. You don't have to move at any pace except your own._

"It won't be easy you know" Masters said abruptly.

"Convincing the Lupine Leaders?"

"Garou" Masters corrected "and that isn't what I meant. The leaders are thrilled with what we've done here in Detroit. Pentex is weakening, and soon I'll be able to tell the other Kindred about banes and Hives, and we can clean this city up for good. They're eager to take all that national. In other words, Thomas, they want to be convinced"

Goodkinde overlooked the use of his first name. Masters had done a lot for him, helping to assemble the other Princes at last months conference, sharing the truth about his plans with him, and being the first Prince to officially Acknowledge him. Besides which, Masters displayed a level of drive uncommon to Princes. Most simply focused on keeping power, not on using it for any particular purpose. Goodkinde found Masters a refreshing and admirable exception.

"So what will be so difficult, my Prince?"

"Drop that 'my Prince' stuff. Its necessary in front of other Kindred but I hate it. And the real problem will be the rank and file Garou who don't have all the information. You have to make a case so strong that it will stand up without ANY OTHER DATA" Masters emphasized this strongly "otherwise, no matter what the leaders decide, most Garou will just ignore them. They're no where near as organized as even the Anarch packs. In fact most of those you will meet here aren't technically their Tribes overall leaders at all, simply the most respected leaders I could find."

Goodkinde was silent for a moment. Like most kindred he was used to a society in which leaders were at least nominally obeyed. Even the Brujah had to do what the Prince told them, and to Goodkinde's mind that was as it should be. He had thought things would be the same for the Lupines; after all wolves obey the pack leader.

Still, he'd come this far…

And then he got an idea. It would piss of some of his vampiric supporters, but it would virtually guarantee that he would succeed here.

"Well, it would have been nice to know this stuff before, but what the hell, I can only die once. Er, twice."

Masters laughed and clapped Goodkinde on the back. "Now that's the spirit! Let's go"

They walked down stairs to the basement, it was very very large, and in the center was a semicircular table, with 13 men and women seated around it. All were uneasy, and Goodkinde sensed that this was as much due to the presence of their fellows as his own.

Masters gestured to the seated Lupines. "Thomas Goodkinde, allow me to introduce the leaders of the Garou Nation in North America. This is King Albrecht, ruler of the Silver Fangs. To his left is ,the most respected Theurge among the Black Furies. Next, Dmitri Alexandrovich Shukov Lead Alpha of the Shadow Lord tribe…" and so on around the table. Goodkinde could not remember all their names; since he will most likely never see them again he didn't try.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you all know my proposal by now. I am here not to outline my general plans, but to explain why it is in your best interest to help me. "

"A fine question" said Albrecht "Why should we help a blood worm gain more power?"

In answer, Goodkinde swept an arm out the window "Look outside. Look at how well things are going in Detroit. What was once a stronghold for Pentex and its allies has turned into one of their biggest failures. I can take this national."

"How?" said Shukov, his voice a low insinuating murmur "You're American presidency is no where near as powerful as that of Russia. Without significant backing in your parliament-"

"Congress and Senate" Masters interrupted with a murmur.

"-Or whatever" Shukov continued, a bit testily "you can do little. I believe the correct term is a 'lame duck' yes?"

"True enough, but this campaign against Pentex and the Wyrm would not be based on legal politics. I would simply be a facilitator. My kind rules the cities, you all know that. No politician can gain significant power without at least tacit approval from us. We decide who is going to rule the kine, based on what we think is best for us. But for all our power, we have little real communication with one another, and are often blinded by immediate self-interest, unaware of larger issues until they threaten us. Take the Hunters. They existed for years before we noticed them, and only with the slaying of Elders have we really begun to worry. Even now, no organized effort exists to combat this new threat.

The same is true of the Wyrm. It never threatened us, so we ignored it. Now though it does. Now Pentex is taking my kind off the streets- off OUR streets- and using them in experiments. Forcing them to Embrace Garou, thus creating Abominations. When this information gets out, even the most lenient Prince will demand the severed heads of all local Pentex executives"

"Perhaps. Why then do we need you?" asked the Black Fury representative, a small woman with Asiatic eyes, dark blonde hair and a Russian accent. _Uzbek I'd guess_ Goodkinde thought. "Our own Kurt Masters could disseminate the information just as well as you can. Why then should we not leave everything to him?"

"Because he is only a Prince madam. I see he didn't talk to you about Camarilla law. Within his domain a Prince is omnipotent. Whatever he does, short of violating the Traditions, is perfectly legal and acceptable. Outside however, he is powerless. And communication between domains is notoriously bad. You can, if you want, think of our cities as islands. Each has its own leader, its own customs, its own laws, and has little to no contact with any other city. But, as President I can change all that.

If I held the office of President, I would have sufficient status and power to spread the truth to every corner of this nation, and perhaps beyond. Only one in the white house can do this, and I am the ONLY Cainite with the knowledge, ability, and experience to get there. "

"I have question" the Red Talon representative said, her voice a growl "Why we trust you? You Leech. You get power, turn on us"

"I can understand your thought, even if I disagree. So I have a proposal. I will tae a Garou running mate. I wil choose him, since he must meet a certain standard of intelligence, education and ability. But then, if I do betray you, you need only kill me, and one of your own will take office."

Silence filled the room. No one had been prepared for that, since vampires didn't care for the idea of power sharing.

"if there are no further questions, I must ask now: Do I have your support?"

The final vote was eight for (Bonegnawers, Glasswalkers, Shadow Lords, Silver Fangs, Star Gazers, Children of Gaia, Uktena, Silent Striders ) Three against (wendigo, Black Furies, Get of Fenris) and one abstention, the Red Talons.

Walking out of the room, Goodkinde wiped his brow and, turning to Masters quipped:

"Well, that could have gone worse"

End Chapter 2

No body get too angry, but come on. McDonalds food is basically garbage, and I distrust any food whose ingredients are kept secret. For all I know they use chopped up ex-employees! Hmm…that would explain their high turnover rate…

See this is one problem I have with White Wolf. I don't understand why vampires are associated with the Wyrm. I mean, I understand why werewolves might think that; dead things that drink the blood of the living and often do hideously evil things (cough cough Setites cough cough). But it seems to me that the Camarilla is loser to the weaver; they want everything to remain as is. The Sabbat seem more like the Wyld; chaotic and aiming for change. So, yeah, I think they COULD ally against the Wyrm; no matter what it promised them, its basic goal is to destroy creation. Hardly compatible with either Sects long-term goals. Only the Followers of Set come close, and even they view the Wyrm (Apophis) as Set's rival and enemy.


	3. Chapter 3

Jimmy Exposition felt it creeping up again. He was resigned by now. He opened his mouth

"In the last chapter I noticed that at some point I kind of switched cities from Chicago to Detroit. See, I finished writing it at 2 in the morning, and didn't catch the error in rereading it. It was a very stupid mistake and I'm sorry."

That was it. _Huh, shorter than normal. Oh well, at least whatever it was seems to have gotten its computer fixed_.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER THREE- Kindnapped

On his way back to O'Haire(1) Goodkinde pondered the results of his meeting. With the Lupines on his side, he had less to worry about in the way of paranormal interference in his campaign. The Fae rarely took interest in human politics, so they would not be an issue here. Besides which, fairies and vampires preferred to leave one another alone as far as possible. The Mages could easily disrupt or destroy his bid but they genreally focussed on themselves and their own struggles. So, he had managed to neutralize the one supernaturla faction that might have interfered with him (2).

On the other hand he'd had to promise to make his running mate a Lupine. That would hurt. He controlled a large alliance of like-minded congressmen, but had counted on cementing his sway over the House by buying the support of his main rival with a vice-presidency. Worse, if his running mate ever got ambitious Goodkinde would shortly wind up quite dead. Never mind that his assassin would follow suite, he wouldn't be around to enjoy it. Moreover, the regulations he'd promise woud be tricky to get through, and he knew this was one group he couldn't afford to let down.

It was while he was pondering this that he noticed some whispering from behind him. He was about to turn around to investigate when he felt something hard jab into his back, directly into the center of his spine.

"Don't turn around and don't make a scene" said a voice from behind him "This is a Coyote machine pistol. Breathe in a manner I dislike and we'll see if the blood of Caine will allow you to survive one hundred steel-jacketed bullets. Do you understand? Don't nod, just tilt your head. Good. Now move, Goodkinde."

Goodkinde moved. After a time, he asked "Is there somewhere in particular you want to take me or are we just walking until you find the right spot to shoot me?"

"To the maintenance bay. No more questions just yet"

having no other choice Goodkinde obeyed. Apparently his assailant/captor was skilled with Obfuscation, because no one seemed to notice them leave through the door marked ' AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY'. Within minutes they reached their destination. The maintenance bay was a large vacant hanger

built to hold a jumbo jet. Instead, it held a small private plane, surrounded by armed guards. AS they approached, Goodkinde looked into a nearby window, hoping to at least see the reflection of the man with the gun. This didn't quite work out, primarily because the man had no reflection.

_Lasombra. Sabbat! SHIT!_ Goodkinde mind began running around in small circles, screaming in terror. Outwardly, however, he was the apotheosis of calm. He may have been kidnapped by a sect of anarchic murderous vampires who would no doubt love to kill him in screaming agony, but damned if he'd show how scared he was. Besides, like most vampires, he had had no contact whatsoever with Kindred outside the sect, barring a few Anarchs. _Maybe they aren't as bad as they say. At the very least they want me alive for now._

"Okay now get into the plane" the Lasombra said "Nice and slow. No sudden moves or you're dead- again."

"yes yes" Goodkinde said impatiently " I am familiar with the workings of a kidnapping. Oh and you can put down your gun your friends have me covered."

"Cold one aren't ya?"

"Very" Goodkinde felt good. He'd covered the fear perfectly.

"Then why is the front of your nice white shirt stained with blood-sweat?"

Well, almost perfectly.

"Yes. Well. Shall we continue, or were you planning to kill me here?"

"Oh I don't think that will be necessary, Mr. Goodkinde" called a voice from the entry of the plane "at least not yet"

Goodkinde glanced up at the doorway. There he saw a pale white…creature. It had no legs, having replaced them with a long snakes tail. It DID however have four thin arms, with wicked claws tipping its hands. Two of of those hands were clasped in front of it, the other two were holding long rapiers. It face was bizarre, a nightmare with needle-teeth and two jet-black eyes, which somehow appeared to GLOW black. Goodkinde was struck speechless. If his captor was PROBABLY Lasombra, there could be no question that this was a Tzimisce. Or a monster from the blackest pits of Hell. Either way he was in trouble.

Goodkinde couldn't conceal the look of fear that flitted across his face, but he did manage to keep his voice level enough to say "Not yet? Well, tell you what if you DO need to kill me, how about a bit of warning? Say twenty years? That should give me time enough to settle all my affairs."

The…thing at the door threw its malformed head back and laughed. It was NOT a comforting sound. The closest one could come to describing it would be an imitation of warm, carefree laughter done by someone who had never actually heard any. As if on cue, all the Sabbat in the hangar began laughing. Just as suddenly as it began the laughter stopped.

"Ahh, I should have expected so noted a showman as yourself to be flamoyant in the face of danger. AH, me. Well, I will promise you twenty seconds warning. Much better than nothing, would you not agree? Now, if you please, enter."

Goodkinde was soon aboard. The interior was spartan beyond belief. There were five chairs and six coffins. His host used neither. Instead, it coiled its tail beneath it, and settled back, all hour hands steepled in front of it. Not to be outdone, Goodkinde sat down on one of the plush chairs and waited. Neither spoke for a long time.

_This is a war of nerves. Psychological Chicken_ Goodkinde thought _First one to speak loses face.Well only one thing to do in these situations, one thing that helps me focus._

Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beer, take one down… 

Goodkinde was up(down?) to thirty-two bottles of beer when his host spoke.

"…pass it around, thirty two bottles of beer on the wall. REALLY, Mr. Goodkinde, is this the best self-control exercise you know? If you leave here alive, remind me to give you a pamphlet on meditation techiniques."

Goodkinde's jaw dropped. _How in the WORLD did he know what I- Auspex. Mind reading. Right. God damn it._

The thing across from him smiled. This was even less comforting than the laughter had been, if that was even possible. "Indeed, I expect He damned us all quite some time ago. Now, mr. Goodkinde, what am I to do with you? A Camarilla neonate is normally little to no threat, and certainly not to the entire Sabbat. If , however, you become president you would be just such a threat. I must say, many feel it would be best to give you Final Death and pretend you had never existed."

Goodkinde swallowe. He had, of course, expected this. Still, hearing your own death casually spoken of is always a shock. But something in the way his host had said it implied hope "And what do YOU feel?"

"I feel that, if you were made to understand things, you could be a powerful tool. Tell me, what do you know of the Sabbat? Of our purpose and philosophy?"

_Somehow I doubt that 'you guys have purpose and philosophy?'_ _is the answer that will save my life_ Goodkinde thought. He said "I don't know anything. No one in the Camarilla does. Aren't you vampires who choose to do what you want?"

"No that would be the Anarchs. We Sabbat are an organized army, albeit a looser organization then the stratified hierarchy you are used to. We have goals and rules, but they too are different than the Camarilla's. What do you know of the Antediluvians and Gehenna?"

Now Goodkinde was really confused. "They're just myths. Stories told by people who believe we are descendants of Caine. Thirteen Super-Vampires who wll one day wake up and destroy the world. What does that old legend have to do with anything? "(3)

The Tzimisce nodded "Yes, your Elders heap scorn upon the idea. Strange isn't it? How Kindred who cannot agree on anything at all are all officially in agreement that the story of Caine is only a myth? One would think that at least SOME would believe it, yes? In truth mister Goodkinde, there are vampires who believe in Gehenna, even within your Camarilla. However, the Elders of the Camarilla are still servents of our torpid enemies. Thus, they seek to keep our kind docile and ignorant, until the Final Night. Thankfully, others exist who know the truth and who are not prepared to sit idly while the ancient monsters prepare to consume us all. That is who we are, mister Goodkinde. We are warriors, seeking to protect our race, having broken the bonds of our Sires Sires Sires. Hence the long war between the two sects. Having a pawn in the White House would be a great asset to your sect would it not? Or to ours, of course. You would be in a position to set the Kine upon your enemies,"

Oh no.This is NOT good. He's offering me a choice, or will soon. Join the Sabbat or die. But even if I believe this nonsense, I don't want to give butchers like these any more power than they already possess. Wait,isn't this similar to the problem my mentor brought up? That each Prince and Faction would try to influence me to their own gain? So,I can use a similar answer. 

"I believe you are under a misaprehension. I do not plan to use mortals to combat the Sabbat. You have Auspex, you can tell I'm not lying"

The thing peered closely at him, and Goodkinde felt as though something was examining his very soul.

"Yes" it said at length "you believe that you are. But Elders often manipulate those younger than themselves without their puppets knowledge. Perhaps you do not intend to war on us now, but later your master, if there is one, may change your mind"

Goodkinde was disturbed by that idea. It wasn't one that had ever occurred to him, yet it struck him as frighteningly possible, perhaps even likely. Hadn't there been times when he'd made decisions and later not understood WHY he'd acted as he had? Hadn't he occassionally done things that were against his own interest? The idea chilled him to the bone. _How would I know? Is my mind my own? Was this whole thing even my idea!_

He forced his mind back to the present. "No, you do not understand. I CANNOT use mortals against ANY vampires. The presidents discretionary powers are not what they were. Ike Eisenhower might have been able to wage an underground war, but today I would be found out very quickly. The only way I could do so would be to break the Masquerade. Leaving considerations of my own survival out of it, it would lead almost immediately to a new Inquisition, only this time there would be no escape for our kind. You know how mortals are, show them one monster and they'll keep looking until they feel they've found them all, and with modern technology the Kine could find us all and destroy us. Though I did initially plan to begin a crackdown on 'vampire cults' I realize that too would lead to our discovery. So, I will leave the war behind me for four to eight years"

The Tzimisce was silent for a time. Then it spoke again "Yes, this is true. If you set the mortals upon one of the Kindred, they would destroy us all. Even we Sabbat know how dangerous that would be. Well done, Mister Goodkinde, you have earned your life. Now, tell me why it is in the Sabbat's interests to see you in the White House."

"What?" Goodkinde was relieved, but puzzled.

"Surely it must have occurred to you that the Sabbat controls many key cities in this country. Even if we have temporarily lost New York and Atlanta, we remain strong in Detroit, Pittsburgh, and Los Angeles. Our strength is far greater than the Camarilla's. You must know that if we oppose you, you will fail. So,why should we let you win?"

Goodkinde had prepared an answer to this for the independants, and thought it might work well here. "Simple. The problems I seek to combat affect all Kindred, not only those of the Camarilla. I know you Sabbat don't let the Kine know you're there, you just do it in different ways than us. You know what would happen. Moreover, there's something going on in Chicago, and though I cannot as yet tell you what it is, you can ask your fellow sectmates in that city. Trust me, we NEED tighter control over this country, or things here will become intolerable for our kind. It is no longer sufficient for us to control the leaders, we MUST take power to ensure our survival."

Once again, the thing across from him was silent. At last it nodded "I agree. Very well, the Sabbat will support you, covertly of course, and although we will still make assassination attempts to guarantee that your sect remains convinced of your loyalty, these will be designed to fail. You may go. Oh and tell the guard at the door to give you a copy of the 'inner tranquility' pamphlet. 'Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall' simply isn't appropriate."

As he exited, Goodkinde DID get the pamphlet from the guard. But he had to ask something "How do I know I can rely on you? Not to impugn your honesty" he added hastily, seeing one of the things eyebrows rise "but do you speak for the ENTIRE Sabbat?"

He'd meant it as a joke. How could any one kindred speak for an entire sect? He was surprised to hear his host answer "Yes. I am Ludo, Regent of the Sabbat. Supreme ruler of my sect, at least in theory. Have a good trip mister Goodkinde, the guard will escort you to your plane. Oh, and just so you don't try to lead our enemies back to us…"

Goodkinde suddenly found himself on board his plane, en route to Reno. He had no memory of how he'd gotten there, but wasn't surpirsed. Lasombra were very good with Dominate. He relaxed, and pondered these events.

End Chapter 3

A/N

(1)Yes it is definitley Chicago, and I apologize once agina for the last chapter's error

(3) It occurs to me that the Camarilla probably wouldn't tell neonates or fledglings anything about Gehenna or the Antideluvians. The Elders don't want to upset the careful order of the Camarilla, and would keep any preparations against the Final Night secret. After all, panicky neonates are prime targets for Sabbat recuitment, and besides, ignorant neonates would make much better cannon fodder.

(2) Wrong, he's forgotten quite a few. One will be pivotal to this story. The first reviewer to guess who I'm . thinking of gets a free cameo- Lil Jimmy Urine not included because he's already getting one since he's been such a good reviewer. James Urin representative of the Assamites. NO other prizes will be awarded, primarily because I'm flat broke.


	5. Chapter 5

Authors note: Because this chapter contains manipulation of a very subtle sort, I'll be switching perspectives where necessary. Also, after this ther will be one more chapter of support-gathering, then its on to the real campaigning.

Chapter Four: Many Meetings (pt.1)

Goodkinde's plane touched down in Reno at high noon. Since he owned a private plane, he slept on peacefully until sunset. In the meantime, his security team met with that of Prince Carmen. They discussed the arrangements for the four meetings he would be attending over the next few nights, as well as where he would be spending his days. When this was concluded, the teams made a routine sweep of the locations. The Setites had chosen to meet Goodkinde in a casino, the Giovanni had chosen a warehouse, the Ravnos (1) had selected a park, and the Assamites had chosen a bank. All four locations were swept, with sentry positions being laid out and fire-points specified. All these sights would be checked and rechecked every night until the business at hand was complete.

By the time Goodkinde awoke all was ready for his first meeting. After a quick shower and some blood, he made his way to the Dame Fortune Casino and a meeting with the most hated clan in existence.

DEAL WITH THE DEVIL

Goodkinde remembered what his mentor, the Prince of Denver, had told him about the Followers of Set, to prepare him for this meeting. The old man had never approved of dealing with the Sand Snakes, though.

'No vampire is truly trustworthy. All of us are always plotting and scheming, and loyalty is a rarity indeed. But the Setites are the worst of all. They entrap others using ntheir own weaknesses against them, and in the victim only realizes his danger when it is too late. The worst thing is, they are necessary. They control the smuggling and narcotics industries, and have agents in all sorts of unlikely places. They are fanatics in service of their Clan, though, and that might be useful in this…madness of yours. As for their 'ethinic background' well…They are mostly Middle Eastern or African, with some new recruits from the West Indies . However, I have seen some who appeared to be pure Scandinavian. All are corrupt beyond description, and the only clan I would trust less than Sabbat or Ravnos.' Not exactly the stuff to inspire hope Goodkinde reflected, as he looked across at the Setite representative.

The man across the table did not appear Middle Eastern, African, West Indian, OR Scandinavian. If Goodkinde had to guess he would have said Eastern European. He wore a white suit, with a black shirt underneath, and a white tie. In one hand he held a glass filled with blood, in the other, he cradled a walking stick. Its silver head was shaped like a striking cobra. Like all Followers of Set, he wore a pair of mirrored sunglasses, despite the fact that it was nighttime and they were indoors.

Behind him loomed his bodyguard, a huge man of African decent. As per the agreement, each side was permitted one bodyguard who would carry two weapons. But while goodkinde's bodyguard was armed with a Mac-10 and a Beretta, this man carried only a large pistol and a bizarre, antiquated knife.

The man across the table was known as Asmodeus, even that was uncertain, as Setites rarely allowed any sort of records to be kept of their genuine names. All that existed in most cases was rumor and conjecture. In this case the rumors were rare, as this man apparently had a great deal of power in Nevada, and few were willing to discuss him at all. What little Goodkinde had heard disturbed him. First, 'Asmodeus' was not this mans name. No one knew what his name was, not even the local Inconnu (2). 'Asmodeus' seemed to be a nickname given to him by a local Toreador over fifty years ago, and it had just stuck. Second, he was of fairly low generation, probably eighth or ninth, and was at least a hundred years old. Third, while he had a substantial share in smuggling and narcotics, he had been known to capture and sell members of the Camarilla and Sabbat to the opposing sect. Both sides quietly ignored this, as it was a useful way to harm the enemy. Finally, he had a great deal of influence over one of the Sabbat Bishops of Mexico City.  
All in all, not a man to take too lightly.Goodkinde thought, and pasted a sincere smile onto his features.

Asmodeus returned it.

"Well mister Goodkinde. Shall we get down to business? I would like to say that my clan is certainly impressed by your ambition." The voice was of medium pitch and tone. Pleasant, refined, and nothing like the ingratiating hiss normally associated to the Followers of Set. "But we ARE puzzled. Why would one who has the support of both sects, seek the aid of so insignificant a clan as the Followers of Set? After all, we hardly have any influence at all."

Goodkinde managed to avoid gawking at so blatant a lie. Everyone knew the Setites, lacking the overt strength of the Assamites and Giovanni, maintained their existence through corruption. Through a mixture of addiction, blackmail, bribery and threats, the Snakes were able to maintain control over significant percentages of the world's movers and shakers,both Kindred and Kine. However, Asmodeus was obviously setting the tone for this meeting, and that tone required a circumspect handling of the truth.

"Well, be that as it may, I want to go into this election knowing that I have the Okay of every clan, if not their support. I want to represent all the Cainites of the New World, and that includes the Followers of Set. Besides, I know of no other clan with as many ties to the Africa and the Middle East (3), and that's an area America needs to have more say in. So, I'd like to be able to ask your advice". All true but what I really need is to be sure you won't kill me for pissing you off. Wouldn't be the first time an enemy of your clan's has just disappeared.

"Ah yes, of course. How far-sghted you are! So rare in a neonate. Of course, my clan has always strived to better our race as a whole. As you know, we have often offered to mediate some sort of discussion between the Camarilla and the Sabbat. Sadly, we are the subject of a vicious slander-campaign by powerfull individuals in both sects, and our efforts to make peace are rejected" Asmodeus sighed, a picture of sadness every bit as real as a Ravnos promise.

"Yes, truly a tragedy" Goodkinde responded in his best I-Feel-Your-Pain voice. "Sir, I said before I would prefer your support to mere approval. Is there anything I can do for you to gain that support?"

"Well…" Asmodeus said "My clan as you know, has numerous ties to Haiti and the Carribean. We are disgusted with the dictatorships that are allowed to run rampant there, and the drug trade that has placed a stranglehold on that region. We would like to see tougher laws enacted against smuggling and against the narcotics trade in general, and perhaps some sort of move to advance the cause of freedom to our island neighbors. Finally, we would like to see abit more attention paid to maintaining freedom of religion. Here in Nevada, many small religions are routinely persecuted by over-zealous christians. A little reminder that America has no state religion would be a step in the right direction.

Surely, the President would be in a position to do such things, would he not? Assuming, of course, that a majority of Congress supported him?"

It took a moment for Goodkinde to answer, not because the question was difficult but because he had to review it three times to be certain he'd heard it correctly. The Followers of Set, who made virtually all their money and power from smuggling and drugs, were asking him to TIGHTEN the laws against both? And to fight against the dictatorships of the Islands, which they controlled from the shadows? And since when did the Snakes care about religion! It made no sense, and had to be either a trap or a move in a completely different game then the one he was used to. But he had no choice. During his time on the Hill, he'd learned how many Congressmen were addicts of one sort or another. He had no doubt that if the Setites threatened to withhold their wares, a good percentage of Congress would bow to their will. Not a majority but enough to hurt.

Besides, it wasn't as though they were asking so very much, or that what they asked went against his principles. I should be thankful they didn't ask me to do the revierse. "Yes, he could, provided he had that majority. I was thinking of making that part of my campaign. What do you think?"

Asmodeus smiled. "I think it's a fine idea. And now, mister Goodkinde, I really must run. So much to do, so little time. I wish you every success, and you can be assured that the Followers of Set stand behind you. Good evening."

Goodkinde sat at the table for a long time, trying to figure out why he felt like he'd just paid a dollar to buy the Brooklyn Bridge.

In his limosine, the Cainite known as Tyrell in public turned to 'Asmodeus' and asked him something that had been on the guards mind all night. "Sire, may I ask why did you make the requests that you did? It seems…contrary to the interests of our clan". He was unwilling to say the word 'treasonous'.

The older vampire allowed himself a single chuckle. "Ah, my Childe, you have such a lot to learn before you leave the Path of the Warrior behind. With increased laws comes an increase in prices and a decrease in competition. We'll have to judge how much to increase our prices on a product-by-product basis, to compensate for the renewed vigilence of the law. Of course since most of the Coast Guard and Customs Agency's higher ups are loyal to Set, they will ignore our shipments as usual. Its just our RIVALS who'll feel the wrath of a self-righteous government.

And with those idiot dictators replaced by elected candidates, of OUR choosing of course, we will no longer have to divert resources to put down rebellions and revolts every other year, or check on how much they're skimming from our profits. Moreover, these 'fledgling democracies' can easily receive all manner of international benefits, such as improved trade relations, loans, and even aid against any rebels! By adopting the form of democracy, we cement our power further yet, and surrender nothing. And best of all, those fools in clans like the Toreador and Brujah will aplaud our new 'forward thinking' attitude, giving us even greater influence over them.

As for the final request, I have started several mortal cults which, openly or not, have been dedicated to spreading the worship of Set. However, I have always been stopped by the Lupines, the Society of Leopold, or the damned Children of Osiris. Now however, that wonderful American Freedom of Religion will shield us, turning us from a justly-attacked nut cult, to a persecuted minority. And we will have right on our side should we request police protection. Set bless America!"

'Tyrell' laughed, a little shamed at his lack of knowledge "Yes indeed. Forgive me Sire, I should have seen all that"

Asmodeus waved it off "No matter, childe, no matter. That is why you are back with me again, to learn how to serve Set in a more subtle capacity. No need to be ashamed of that, I was the same way once, and even the greatest serpent begins as a small egg. Now, drive us back to Vegas, and the Golden Pyramid. I feel like celebrating. Oh, and turn on the radio."

The dark limo sped off into the desert night, with Charlie Daniel's 'Devil Went Down to Georgia' playing.

THE NEXT NIGHT: NEGOTIATIONS WITH A NECROMANCER

Angela Giovanni, representative of the Giovanni clan in Nevada, was waiting for Goodkinde in the darkened warehouse. Goodkinde was marginally less nervous than he had been when meeting the Setite. The Giovanni were oath-bound not to interfere in Kindred politics. However, they exerted control over the Mafia and numerous industries, and could easily hurt his chances at office. So he needed to assure them that it was in their interest to get him in. At least they were known for being frank in their negotiations, and for being extremely business like.

Miss Giovanni was not a particularly pretty woman. Her eyes were too close together, her teeth were uneven, and her hair looked like it had a nodding acquaintance at best with a brush. Still, Goodkinde decided to turn on the charm. Those old world types always love that

However, she surprised him by going traight to business. "Mister Goodkinde, while my Clan is mindful of the honor you pay us, I must say we find it omewhat curious. We Giovanni take no part in Kindred politics. We have little influence on mortal politicians in this country. So, I must ask, why are we meeting at all?"

Hmm. Somehow I doubt that the whole 'good of Cainites everwhere' bit will work here "Well, ms. Giovanni, the Giovanni have money. Unlike many Kindred, you are a family and as such qualify as private donors. I'll be frank, election campaigns are expensive affairs. While many kindred can donate through mortal companies, there are limits to how much a candidate can accept from corporate donors. Thus, I need the Giovanni's financial support."

"Ahh" Giovanni visibly relaxed. This was a motive she understood! "Well, we may be able to help you. But what can you offer us in return?"

Goodkinde was prepared for this. "I am willing to declare victory in the war against organized crime"

Giovanni was stunned. By declaring victory against the Mafia, Goodkinde would set te stage for a relaxing of official vigilence. Mortal law enforcement agencies had hurt the Giovanni badly, espescially with the advent of the RICO laws. Many in the clan feared it was only a matter of time until some underling revealed who really controlled the Italian crime families. It was more than she could ever dream of, and securing such a thing would guarantee her advancement within the Family. "That…would be acceptable. I will of course, have to confer with my elders, but for now, I think we can agree."

"There's more. It would be useful to me if my opponents failed to arrive at debates as rested at they might be. I have heard, just in passing, that your clan has some…allies…who might be able to arrange this?"

Giovanni considered. A well-timed Haunting would indeed disrupt anyones sleep, and a candidate who started talking about ghosts and spectres would be laughed out of running. "Yes. I think we can help you there" she said with a smile.

"good then. Perhaps you would care to join me for a drink, ms. Giovanni? Or may I call you Angela…"

Charm. The old world vampire's kryptonite. Goodkinde thought with a smile.

NIGHT THREE: AN EVENING IN THE PARK

The Ravnos was late. Twenty minutes, and thirty seven seconds late. When he finally arrived at the preagreed location (a bench in city's largest park), Goodkinde was having trouble keeping himself under control. Waiting didn't used to bother him so much, but recently he didn't like having a lot of free time. Inevitably, his mind was drawn back to what the Sabbat leader had suggested.

How DID he know he was running for office because it was what he wanted, rather than what some Elder or Methusaleh wanted? Technically, if the older cainite madeliberal use of Domination, Presence and the like, Goodkinde could be no more than a puppet on a string, dancing to his masters tune, all the while convinced he simply felt like dancing. Of course he WANTED to be president, what red-blooded (or at least red-blood-drinking) American didn't? But wouldn't that only make him a better puppet? What better tool than one that wants to be used?

When the other vamire finally arrived, Goodkinde was fully prepared to take it out on him. Ravnos were only a step above the Caitiff, after all, so what harm? He was stopped by who he saw.

When one pictured the Ravnos, one imagined a gypsy clad in flashy and gaudy clothes, usually bought with someone else's money. Long, greasy hair. Flashy stolen jewelery. A tricksters smile. What Goodkinde saw was a well dressed, middle-aged man of Indian or Pakistani nationality. He was tall, with a thin frame and a dark beard. His clothes were not fancy, a sports jacket and ordinary pants, but they were of good quality, and subdued colors. The stranger smiled, amused by Goodkinde's reaction.

"Do not tell me" he said in the thick musical accent of the Indian subcontinent "You were expecting some piece of Gypsy trash who would more likely than not walk away with your wallet, yes? I am not being what you expected, yes?"

"yes. No. I mean…what is…"

"I am afraid you and your fellow Westerners are the victims of a very great hoax, mister Goodkinde.''

"A hoax?"

"Yes. You see, for many thousands of years the Ravnos clan has defended India against the Hungry Dead of Asia, who you are calling Cathayans. It has been our duty since the days of our ancient founder. It is a war, and in war sometimes one is finding oneself with recruits who are not good enough. What does one do? My clan pondered this for many many years, and eventually killed or expelled all those not worthy to remain in India. These moved west, into Europe and america, which we considered unimportant. So you see mister goodkinde, what you of the west have referred to as Ravnos, are merely…"

"…rejects. Those you Embraced but then rejected." Goodkinde was shocked. All Cainites knew the Ravnos as wandering thieves, worthless vagabonds. They were tolerated in cities only because Ravnos would move en masse to any city that attempted to persecute them, merely to cause chaos. Ravnos were not respected by anyone, and their word was trusted less even then the Setites. 'Not worth a Ravnos promise' was a very old saying. Now it appeared, they were to learn otherwise.

"And their childer, yes. Now that our enemy seeks to expand to this New World, we are sending in REAL Ravnos to be fighting them. The trash you are used to will be brought under control, or…dealt with"

Translation: They will do as they are told or be extinguished. Good. "Well mister Gregor…"

"That is not my name, it was that of a failed Ravnos exile…until recently. Nor will I be telling you my name.You may refer to me as Mister Ravnos. I am a warrior, and do not wish my enemies to know I am here."

"I see. Well, mister Ravnos, I must admit that this does change things. I had assumed that I would be dealing with the Gypsies, and that if I promised aid in establishing some sort of rights for their clan within Camarilla cities…"

"No, that would never have worked. The misbegotten souls known as the Gypsy clan would never have kept their side of the bargain, and no ruler would give them rights. However, you are not dealing with them, but with True Ravnos. We will aid you but there are two conditions. First, we require the city of Sacramento California for our own. I am aware that it is being part of the Anarch Free States, so we request Camarilla assistance in retaking it. Second, one major…I think the term is 'boon' to be invoked by a representative of the True Ravnos whenever the clan has need. Then you will have my Clan's support."

"Your support? I just assumed this deal would ensure no Ravnos tricks! What can you offer me?"

"Assistance in dealing with India and Pakistan. An opening for dealings with the Cathayans. A contribution to your campaign in excess of two million dollars."

Goodkinde kept calm, but inwardly was astonished. All those things WOULD be useful. India and Pakistan were major globall hotspots militarily, and America was establishing close economic ties with India. The Cathayans would haave to be dealt with by anyone who wanted to have influence in Asia. And as a wise man once observeed 'the phrase Too Much Money is a non-sequitor'.

But still, something nagged at him. Admittedly, this Ravnos was different from any he had seen before, but how different WAS he?

"You must understand, I can't just hand over a city to Ravnos. I would have to be able to provide some sort of guarantee to the Camarilla leaders that you woudn't use it to destabilize the entire continent. Just a few Ravnos individuals can cause havoc in a city, I shudder to think what a city full of them would be like. Also I would have to be able to inform them what you wanted the city FOR, and why you were so specific about which one."

"I had hoped you would see that we are not like the Lost Children you are used to, but I see this is not yet so. H,…" The Indian man stared off for a moment, lost in thought, before continuing. "What if we allowed a number Camarilla Observers to remain in Sacramento, as a guarantee of our good behaviour?"

Goodkinde thought for a moment. Ravnos were not head-on fighters, and a team of crack Camarilla warriors could probably ensure good behaviour. Still he felt like he was missing something "You still haven't told me why Sacramento."

"Ah yes, I forget. As you know, many of the Anarch Free States have fallen to the Cathayans in recent years. In order to oppose them effectively we require a firm base of operations. Sacramento has not yet fallen,and it is the seat of local power. From there we could organize a most effective campaign against our enemies."

Goodkinde nodded, that at least made sense. "You understand I cannot guarantee anything immediately. I will go now and begin the necessary steps. I SHOULD be able to get you what you want, and I will contact you when I know one way or the other."

The Ravnos vanished. Literally. Goodkinde was taken aback, but then remembered their mastery of illusion. "I wonder if he was ever really here" he said quietly.

He received an answer later on, when, upon returning to his hotel room, he discovered someone had stolen his wallet. In its place was a note in Sanscrit, which was later revealed to say: 'Surely you did not expect a True Ravnos to be less adept than a false one?'

Goodkinde's ensuing Frenzy destroyed the hotel room.

End Chapter 4


	6. Chapter 6

At 1:45AM, fifteen minutes before his guests' arrival, Goodkinde stepped into the empty boardroom of the First National Bank of Reno. He examined the décor, which had been specially set up by his ghoul attendants. It was elegant without being ostentatious, and spoke of money, power and restrained elegance. Btu most importantly, it was without any distinctive national character.

Often, in dealing with the Assamites, Kindred chose surroundings that emphasized the power of Western civilization, in order to put their 'guests' off guard. The Assamites, being tied to the Muslim world, were often uncomfortable when surrounded by, for example, Castilian furniture; some of the Assassins remembered the nights when the Caliphs ruled Spain. And Kindred always preferred to deal with someone when they held the advantage, however slight.

However, tonight Goodkinde wanted to create a relaxed atmosphere; or at least as relaxed as it could be. He was, after all, dealing with a clan of diablerists and murders; the cannibals of clan Assamite inspired dread just by their very natures. Which was why he had made a special request for aid from Arthur Rennick, the head of the Tremere in North America. Rennick had sent him literature on clan Assamite, and two Tremere neonates to 'help negotiations along'.

The two 'young' Warlocks looked nothing like the stereotypical Tremere. Indeed, they looked more like Sabbat neonates (or whatever the savages had). One was a small, scrawny black youth who wore sunglasses despite the bright lights of the room. His skin had already started to pale, meaning he'd been a vampire for a while now (Goodkinde himself still looked somewhat tanned due to his extreme youth) but he carried himself with the same lack of dignity and bearing as the rawest neonate.

The other… if he hadn't known better, Goodkinde would have sworn she was a Malkavian. She constantly looked this way and that, her eyes those of a hunted beast. Her hands, concealed within the folds of a dark blue cloak, fidgeted almost constantly, and she occasionally muttered to herself about 'the ancient eye awakening'. Her clothes were filthy, stained with blood and who-knew-what-else. He hair was long, wild and disheveled, the color of mud.

_Fucking Tremere…_

Goodkinde knew that the Tremere, and their Thaumaturgy, were a major part of the Camarilla's strength. He knew that the Warlocks were almost fanatically loyal to the Camarilla. He knew that the Tremere had long been a point of stability in the often-threatened sect. He knew all these things; yet he still felt an almost unnatural loathing for the Tremere. They just didn't seem… natural. Even compared to other vampires! They constantly schemed in the shadows, never moving openly. Their whole 'Pyramid' structure offended him; both as a Libertarian and as a Brujah he believed every individual had the right to determine his or her own destiny. _Still, better to be at the right hand of the devil…_

The clock on the wall chimed the hour. 2AM. The Assamite delegation was seated around the table. They didn't enter, nor did they appear in a puff of smoke. It was as though the two men had always been there. One was small, balding, and dark skinned, with Arabic features and glasses. He wore an unreadable expression and wore an ill fitting pinstripe suit. The other was dusky, not quite dark enough to label as 'black' but too dark to be labeled as 'white', with brownish hair and delicate features, in sharp contrast to his fighter's frame. He wore a perfectly tailored suit. Both men did not glance at Goodkinde, instead studying some papers they had in front of them. The impression they gave was that this was THEIR office , and that it was Goodkinde who had come to see them.

Goodkinde felt the Beast rising, angry that these newcomers made him feel so nervous, so timid. The blood of Brujah was volatile at the best of times, but in highly stressful situations, every neonate was essentially a time bomb. Goodkinde immediately began the relaxation techniques he had learned from the pamphlet given to him by the Sabbat leader.

Picture your sire. Picture her sire. Picture all your line, all the way back to Brujah and then beyond to Caine. Think of all that they did, all that they achieved, and know that it was all in spite of the Beast they passed to you. If they could tame it, so can you. Master the monster within you, master the world around you, and do honor to your blood.

He felt the Beast rally briefly, but within a few moments he was himself again. For now. Goodkinde, calm and relaxed now, turned towards his guests. Behind him the Tremere younglings contented themselves with some sort of Japanese card game involving ridiculous beasts. You'd think as vampires the idea of monsters would have lost its appeal to them…

"Gentlemen. I am pleased to see that have decided to see me. May I ask, which of you is James Urin?"

Goodkinde assumed that the small man would be the chief representative, as he appeared to be more in line with the image of the typical Assamite. He had assumed the other to be a bodyguard, or possibly an interpreter from another clan. To his surprise the tall man stood up and reached across the table to shake Goodkinde's hand.

"That would be me. Please, sit mister Goodkinde. Would you care for refreshments? We have brought with us blood and vitae both. And to forestall your next question no, the vitae is not Assamite. "

Urin gave a smile, and its sincerity and warmth amazed Goodkinde. The Assamite undoubtedly felt nothing for him and yet he radiated friendliness and a desire to assist. As a Cainite, he was impressed. As a politician, he was awestruck. His guest continued "After all, it is a rude guest indeed who attempts to Blood Bond his host, wouldn't you agree?"

Goodkinde gave a smile of his own and replied "I thank you for your generosity, but I prefer to stick to mortal blood. It reminds me, somehow, of my ties to my former species." A polite, but firm refusal which deftly avoided the issue of where the vitae had come from if not from the Assamites themselves. "Pardon me, but I am afraid my time in this part of the country is drawing to a close, and I would like to conclude my business as soon as possible.

Urin gave a smaller smile, and nodded towards a vacant chair opposite him. "Please. I must confess, mister Goodkinde that I don't understand why you wanted to meet with me. My clan has historically had little to do with politics of any sort, and although we consider the Camarilla to be excellent employers, we have no interest in altering our policies for you."

Goodkinde nodded. The Assamites rarely interacted with the mortal world, save for feeding and siring childer. "Lucky for all of us that I didn't come here for political support, then. I want to put out a contract."

Urin's companion spoke for the first time "We prefer to refer to is as 'arranging for a consultation on a problem', mister Goodkinde. Assassination is an…unpleasant term"

"Moamad! Please! Our guest isn't interested in terminology! Forgive him mister Goodkinde, he is still learning the social graces. But, again, I must confess to puzzlement. Wouldn't assasi… excuse ME. Wouldn't engaging a consultant from our clan damage your carefully forged support network?"

"It might do, if I were seeking 'consultation' on a specific individual. Instead I want to request you to immediately consult with any individual who seeks to employ you to consult with me. After which you may do as you see fit"

Urin raised one perfect eyebrow. "An interesting proposal mister Goodkinde. May I assume that the usual requirement that this meeting be a secret are waived?"

"You may do as you wish. I intend to tell everyone I can about this. I may even take an ad out in the paper. I think for three million dollars I'm entitled to a bit of publicity."

"Ah, yes" Urin nodded, a friendly smile on his face once again "the matter of payment. Money is all well and good, but it is only a beginning point. One hesitates to be so crass as to blurt it out but…"

"…but typically you prefer to be paid in blood. Which brings us to my young associates here. They form the balance of payment." The two looked up but were immediately seized by previously unseen Nosferatu.

Urin looked them over, a look of disappointment marring his features. He took in the futility of their struggles against their hideous captors and said "Caitiff?"

"Tremere"

Urin's only reaction was to raise his eyebrows. 'Moamad' sprang from his seat.

"Impossible" he yelled "the Warlocks would NEVER give up their blood to us, as you should know NEONATE! You are a LIAR!!". Suddenly his eyes flew wide and he clapped his hands over his mouth, as though he could somehow recapture the words he had spoken.

Later on Goodkinde reflected that some people can terrify others with a single movement, but only a very few can do it through a lack of motion. Nevertheless, when Urin froze the entire room braced itself. The Nosferatu flinched visibly. Very slowly, the Assamite representative turned his head toward his companion. In a flat, dead voice that nevertheless promised dire punishment Urin said "Moamad. Go and wait in the car. Now."

The Arabic man apparently regretted his outburst and stammered "B-but sire, I merely…"

Now Urins eyes flashed fire, and Goodkinde felt a sudden surety that the Tremere would not be the only ones dying tonight. "NOW."

Without a word the little man left the room, visibly terrified. Urin closed his eyes for a moment and when he again regarded Goodkinde there was no trace of his previous anger. "So you offer us these neonate Tremere? Vengeance is tempting but potent blood would be better, especially blood that did not bring with it the wrath of the Warlocks."

Goodkinde smiled, knowing he had the Assamite exactly where he wanted him. "I thought as much, which is why I obtained disgraced neonates of unusually potent vitae. Both these Warlocks are sentenced to death by their clan for various offences, and neither is higher than 10th generation. Ancillae-level, at the least. The Warlocks won't care one way or the other what happens to them, provided you agree to my terms."

"Hey man, y-you you can't do this to us man.." the male Tremere said "I mean, yeah, I punched the Regent but… but they'll kill us man. Please, I'm fucking begging you man".

The other simply started crying, blood tears streaking her grime covered face.

Goodkinde said nothing.

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

The message delivered to Goodkinde's suite was simple. It said only "Permission is granted. 8-3-2. Unity." The translation ran more like: The Inner Circle, governing body of the Camarilla and arguably the most powerful group on the planet, gives its blessing to your bid for the Presidency. The vote ran 8 for, 3 against, with 2 abstentions. In the interests of presenting a united front, the naysayers changed their votes following the conclusion of the meeting. Thus, the Inner Circle stands united behind you.

It was a wordy little card, no question.

So. I have the Kindred behind me. I have the Lupines behind me. I have a massive war chest for the campaign, more than double what my opponents will likely be able to muster, and moreover I have assurances that none of the major power blocs will support them. I have a network of allies in Congress and the Senate, ready to help me implement my plans once I reach the White House. My running mate is a respected judge on the federal circuit whose cousins just so happens to get hairy every now and then.

He turned to his partner, Judge Michael Krytherin. Apparently he was some sort of city werewolf's cousin who made it big in law. The two had actually know each other before, back when Goodkinde had still been breathing. Mike was a bald man (he'd begun shaving his head at the first sign of impending hair loss), with circular glasses and a gaunt build. He was a contrast to the robust, silver haired Goodkinde, both in looks and in temperament. Cool and reserved, Mike had thus far stayed away from politics. This was a dual edged sword, since it meant that although Mike had no contacts he also had less of an agenda.

Moreover, he was led to understand that, despite his fur-bearing relatives, Mike had little knowledge of the supernatural side of the world. He knew his relatives were werewolves, and that for some reason they didn't trust Goodkinde, but he put it down to clannishness. Apparently, there was a long list of people the Lupines didn't trust, and it included their own families. So, Goodkinde was able to remain fairly friendly ith his new partner.

"Mike, old man, its time to hit the campaign trail"

"Well, Tommy" said his VP-to-be "we got a lot of ground to cover. An old-fashioned whistle stop tour is a good way to kick off the campaign. Get in touch with the voters."

"Next stop, New York City"

To be continued.

A/N see? Told you I'd do it.


End file.
